


In which everything was fine

by Beleriandings



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Crack?, Fix It, Happy AU, Multi, Schrodinger's crack, Sword jokes, Weddings, gratuitous references to Morwen being a badass, pleasant picnics
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-07
Updated: 2019-07-07
Packaged: 2020-06-24 07:13:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 764
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19718779
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Beleriandings/pseuds/Beleriandings
Summary: The Children of Húrin, except everything is fine.





	In which everything was fine

**Author's Note:**

> I'm taking fic requests on tumblr, to celebrate 1000 followers there!! This one was for @princeimrahils, who requested something with Túrin, his family, or Beleg, with something good happening for once.

“Do you ever think about how lucky we were?” said Beleg, as the three of them sat side by side on the river bank, one summer afternoon.

“What do you mean?” asked Túrin. He nodded at Niënor, as she ripped a chunk off the loaf of fresh bread they had brought from the house and handed it to him, slicing a piece of hard cheese with his dagger.

“Well…” Beleg threw a stone into the river. “That time I found you again. You were asleep, and I think I startled you, and, and… you know I don’t mean this in an accusing way, of course, but you could have killed me with that big fucking sword, swinging it around in the middle of the night.” He offered Niënor a slightly reproachful look, as she snorted, spraying crumbs into the river. “I see you…it’s not funny, I could have died.”

“Sword jokes are always funny” said Niënor.

“Well, okay, maybe a bit funny. But I did almost die, and, well…” Beleg slipped his arm through Túrin’s. “I’m glad I didn’t.”

Túrin winced, reaching out and gingerly giving Beleg’s arm a conciliatory squeeze. “Uh, yes. Sorry about that. I still feel kind of bad. …In my defense, you did loom up out of the dark.”

Beleg waved a hand, dismissing this. “It’s not your fault. That’s not what I meant. Just…” he gestured around the sunlit bank of the Taeglin, buttercups bobbing in the warm breeze. “We’re lucky that it worked out, that’s all. Niënor, too… if she hadn’t got her memory back like that…”

Túrin winced again, as did Niënor, exchanging slightly appalled looks. “Don’t make it weird, Beleg. I put up with you and my brother making eyes at each other from across the kitchen every single day, so I mean, it’s already weird, but it could be _much_ weirder.” said Niënor. She sighed, her face falling. “But yes, you’re right.” She threw a stick into the river, watching it drift downstream to eventually disappear out of sight around the bend. “Things could have gone… so much worse.”

“I think that sword had something to do with it” confessed Túrin. “I think it just didn’t like me.”

“It kept giving you doomy prophecies, in a creepy voice” said Niënor. “Getting rid of it was for the best.”

“I’m glad I gave it to mother. I think she’s immune to it…she just won’t put up with it’s bullshit. Also, I don’t think _I’d_ have been able to sneak into Angband with it and rescue father like she did.”

“Hmm, yeah, probably not. No offense.”

“None taken.”

“Oh, that reminds me, I meant to tell you that we got a letter from your parents!” said Beleg, face lighting up. “Your mother thinks that your father will have recovered enough to make it here for midsummer, and she wants to know what the dress code is for the wedding!”

“Oh, I already said it’s your choice, dear” said Túrin. “I don’t mind, as long as you’re happy.”

“Aw….sweetheart….”

They both laughed as Niënor interrupted the moment they were having with some affectionate, sisterly retching noises. “I don’t know why I live with you two. I should just move out and let you canoodle in peace. Maybe go find myself a dragon to hunt down.”

Beleg raised an eyebrow. “Finduilas said she’d come visit for the wedding. And apparently, she’s over the break-up with Gwindor now.”

Niënor tried, valiantly, to feign apathy. “Hmm. Really.”

Túrin grinned, elbowing his sister in the ribs a little. “She said in her last letter that she was once again, and I quote, “single and ready to mingle”. And to be fair I don’t think it would ever have worked, I know first hand that she’s got a thing for round ears… and she asked after you.”

He laughed, smacking Niënor on the back as she nearly choked on a piece of bread.

Luckily, fate was such that she coughed it up, sending crumbs scattering down the front of her tunic.

“Me?”

“Well. She asked how my sister was doing…”

She regained her composure. “Well. I hope you don’t mind your little sister getting drunk and horny at your wedding and flirting with this elf princess that you befriended, gods only know how.”

Túrin affected a sigh. “Just don’t fall in the river and drown. Or confront any dragons.”

“As long as you don’t actually end up poking anyone with your sword.” She winked at Beleg, who gave a thumbs-up sign back. “So to speak.”

“…I’ll try my very best.”


End file.
